Page 39 of Molt
He almost laughs. Almost. “And you don’t peel.”
“Okay.”
“And...” He stops.
“What?”
“Nothing.”
“No. What?”
His voice lowers. “We don’t become what we were.”
I swallow. “Lovers.”
He doesn’t answer. He doesn’t need to.
“Okay.” The word tastes wrong. I don’t know why.
I’ve known this man for less than an hour.
Apparently I’ve known him for more than a century. Both things feel true. Both feel impossible. “Okay,” I repeat.
August stands again.
This time I let him.
His footsteps move away. One. Two. Three.
Stop.
“Lenora?”
“Yeah?”
“Throw away the tooth.”
I look toward the bathroom. “Why?”
“Because keeping pieces makes it harder.”
“For who?”
A pause.
“Both of us.”
Then he’s gone.
I sit against the door long after the hallway falls silent. Eventually, I get up, check the deadbolt and the chain then go into the bathroom.
The tooth waits inside the medicine cabinet.
I take it out, wrap it in tissue and drop it into the trash.
Done. Easy.
I wash my face. Brush my teeth carefully around the new molar. Change clothes. Turn off the lights then get into bed.
